


Abandon Ship: Misguided Loyalty

by SASundance



Series: Abandon Ship [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Betrayal, Facing harsh truths, Gen, Kissing, Misguided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SASundance/pseuds/SASundance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N:This series consists of self-contained stories that have only two things in common. First off they are AU and examine Tony ships with his team mates from a unorthodox or non-conventional point of view. Have to say this series is very different from what I usually write and I'm a bit stumped about how to classify them.</p><p>I’ve never been a fan of shipping Tony with anyone from his team. In my humble opinion every ship conveniently ignores  the abusive and toxic nature of their working relationship with Tony  by the team. The first Abandon Ship explored what I think would have happen if he was foolish enough to begin a relationship with one of them - in this case Ziva. In this story I wanted to explore another common trope in the shipping realm that drives me crazy which is that Tony is some lovelorn idiot that has spent the last 15 years sitting on his ass pining away for a love he thinks he’ll never have. Sorry but I can’t accept that he would be so pathetic – I can’t believe anyone would. This is my twist on the frequently  used plot device in this three part story. It takes place in season eleven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trepidation and Beer

**Author's Note:**

> Tony has been getting a weird vibe off Gibbs for weeks now. He doesn't think he's done anything to make him mad but then who can know with the boss. 
> 
> I don't make money from this story - it's just for fun.
> 
> Arress beta'd the story and Frakking Toasters gave feedback.

I’m driving over to Gibbs’ house with a case of Canadian beer and trepidation as my passengers. The boss invited me over for dinner and to watch the game, but I suspect that his motive is much more than a couple of co-workers unwinding together at the end of a hard week. Sure, I used to come over to his house to hang out with him frequently, but I haven’t been here for a long time. When I did drop by, it wasn’t as if I ever expected to be entertained – Gibbs doesn’t feel the need to entertain or even make conversation. I used to follow him around like an eager to please puppy, hoping that he might direct a look or a word in my direction, but in lieu of attention, perfectly happy to watch him do the stuff that he did. I’ve come to the conclusion lately that it was probably paternal crap left over from childhood rejection and effectively being ignored by Senior my whole life. 

I guess there are things about Gibbs that have always reminded me of my father. They both have RULES, although Gibbs has a helluva lot more explicit ones than my father - over fifty of them, and then there are the unnumbered ones as well like there is no such thing as coincidence. My father’s rules, apart from DiNozzos don’t cry, don’t faint, or let anyone see your weakness, are all subtle and fluid, while Gibbs’, like the man, are pretty much set in concrete. Yet for all their differences, there are a lot of commonalities about the pair too.

Gibbs and Senior’s expectations are unattainably high, both absolutely abhor appearing weak and vulnerable in front of people – even those people who are closest to them. They both have a Machiavellian nature, and while they use it for rather different objectives, that little gleam in the eye or crinkle of the lip, the subtlest of tells when they play someone is still spookily similar as they hook their prey. 

They both have an unshakeable self-confidence and self-belief that I totally envy and can only dream about possessing. Then there is the fact that both of them lost the love of their lives and then married multiple times trying to recapture what was simply irreplaceable.

Of course, there is one thing that makes Gibbs a very different animal from my father, and no, it isn’t that he shops at Sears or wears his silver-gray hair shorn high and tight while Senior wears bespoke suits costing thousands of dollars and has a stylist from an exclusive hair salon cut his hair. It isn’t that Gibbs’ idea of a good time is working on his boat or some other wood working project in his basement while Senior’s is schmoozing with a bunch of wealthy business people trying to get them to invest in his next big thing. Or that my father is as facile and fluent as Gibbs is taciturn and terse. It isn’t even the biggy that Anthony DiNozzo Senior is all about how to feather his own nest and Gibbs has always served his country and doesn’t care about money, as important and impressive as that distinction might be.

No, what set them apart from my personal point of view, and call me self-absorbed if you must, was something much more fundamental and pivotal in my life. Gibbs, unlike my father, told me once upon a time that I had value when he offered me a job at NCIS and taught me what became my most sacred rule – even more sacrosanct than Rule 1 that I’ve try to live by even before I joined his team. Partners are inviolable even when I’ve sometimes been burnt by them.  
People always wondered why I’ve stayed loyal, many would say pathetically so, to Gibbs who is a hard man. Hard to work for, I can’t deny that, but it was his Rule 5 – you don’t waste good - that kept me coming back for all this time despite all the crap he’s thrown at me over the years.

I’d never had anyone believe in me like that before – apart from football and basketball, but I don’t really count that cuz people flattered me because I had something they needed. They wanted to take advantage of my skills for their own agendas. So we could win the game, win the championship, get noticed and win a place on a pro team. I was always happy to help make the team look good, but somehow towards the end, I realised it was no longer as important as I thought. After the reality check when I failed to save an innocent little girl from being burnt to death, playing games somehow seemed pretty frivolous in comparison. 

Of course, growing up, Senior had never once given any indication that I was good enough; quite the opposite. I’ve never been able to earn my father’s approval for my achievements, but believe me, it hasn’t been for the want of trying. Although, towards the end I’d stopped aiming for approval and settled on any kind of attention, even of the negative kind, rather than out and out being an irrelevance. At least when he was pissed off with me, I felt like I actually existed. I guess that’s where I developed my irritating, obnoxious personality that my co-workers are at pains to point out to me on a daily basis. 

Then there was my mother who died when I was eight, and I never managed to secure her approval either, but then her rules were far more mercurial than Senior’s or Gibbs’, depending on her mood or how many prescription medications she’d imbibed. There were days when she was all lightness and love, and then the darkness would overpower her and she could be cruel, cutting, and dismissive. Occasionally, she would be filled with rage or depression and I would hug the shadows, trying to stay out of her way because it never ended well for me. 

Still, the point is, that between a father with unattainable standards that I couldn’t ever reach and a mother who couldn’t seem to make up her mind what she wanted from me, I always felt adrift and was often confused. I was never sure what role I was supposed to fill in her life – a noisy, hyperactive, curious little boy, a living doll that she could dress up in sailor suits or miniature lounge suits and tuxedos, or a musical prodigy through which she could achieve her own thwarted ambitions or gain the acceptance she craved from segments of New York society. To be honest, I felt a bit like Sybil, never knowing what part my mother was going to need me to play on any given day. The paradox was my father ignored me while my mother gave me way too much attention – most of it the wrong sort.

The most important lesson I learnt as a child was that appearances are all important. First impressions were critical and you can’t ever afford to show weakness. I guess that’s why Gibbs and I gelled so quickly since his fundamental message about being weak was similar to my father’s. My childhood consisted of learning how to fit in in the society crowd that my parents’ lives revolved around with a religious -like fervour. I had elocution lessons to ensure that I didn’t speak like a brash New Yorker or a third-generation Italian-American, both of which were considered terribly vulgar by my parents and my elocution teacher. I swear, I was the only kid in my elementary school to sound like a miniature Charles Emerson Winchester III with my carefully coached Bostonian accent that my mother with her upper crust English roots approved of. 

Even in snooty Long Island, none of my peers had tutors for ballroom dancing – Mother loved to dress me up for competitions. Then there were the daily piano lessons with the knuckle cracking piano teacher, and I had started fencing classes because, according to Senior, little savages played soccer and T-ball, while tomorrow’s movers and shakers fenced and played polo. So, I also had a riding tutor for polo, even if my Shetland pony Topsy Turvy was too dumpy to be able to run fast. My mother adored kitting me out in riding garb too, and there were times when I felt a bit like those paper dolls that little girls used to play with, with the paper outfits that they could swap to their hearts’ content. I loved Topsy, my pony, but I wanted to do stunts like the Lone Ranger and Trigger, not chase around after a stupid ball with a mallet. And I’d much rather have played soccer or T-ball like the other kids than learn to fence.

So, little wonder I became skilled in keeping up with appearances, since I figured out before I could talk properly that if I wanted approval - and I did want it, craved it like a drug addict - that appearances were all that mattered in my parents’ world. A good grade wasn’t acknowledged because of a job well done, but because it could eventually lead to an Ivy League college where you could meet the right people who would help you make more money. One of Senior’s favourite saying was ‘you are who you know, Junior. Don’t ever forget…you are who you know.’

Of course, knowing what I do about Senior now, this makes a lot more sense, but back then I never really got to choose my friends; they were chosen for me on the basis of what their parents could provide my father. By the time he’d disowned me, I was such a mess I had no damned idea who Anthony Daniel DiNozzo really was and which parts of me, if any, were real or simply fabricated for my parents’ approval.

So, by the time I was ended up in Baltimore and my partner, Danny, who I felt was like a brother to me, betrayed our partnership, meeting Gibbs was like being tossed a life preserver when I was drowning and going under for the last time. The federal agent telling me I was good was an enormous life changer and I hankered after the feelings it evoked like a junkie craves another hit of their drug, willing to do almost anything to recreate that endorphin high of earning Gibbs’ approval. The fact he saw past all the crap I used to protect myself with and saw beyond it to my worth, to my potential, someone who didn’t care about who I was, only what I was capable of doing was a heady experience. Little wonder he won my loyalty pretty much instantaneously.

Oh, I admit there have been times when my loyalty’s been sorely tested. God knows, Gibbs can push my buttons like no one else, and there’ve been many a time where I longed to tell him where he could stick it and resign. After he took off to Mexico and then came back just as abruptly after giving me the team and taking it back again with just as little warning, for example. Then there was his petulance over the ill-fated La Grenouille undercover mission and his childish payback with Domino, just to name a few of the elephants lurking in the room. Plenty of other fodder too - like his bad temper, his cruel habit of making cutting comments about me in front of the team and other people, which he didn’t do with anyone else on the team. His insistence that I needed his head slaps to concentrate caused plenty of tension in our relationship, especially after I had led the team and then had to accept a demotion complete with head slaps that were frankly belittling and disrespectful. Yet I stayed!

Still, despite my loyalty, in the last few years, Gibbs has become increasingly distant, not sure why – perhaps because I challenged him over E.J. Barrett and he wasn’t used to me defying him. And although it was a shock to find out that she was the niece of the former SecNav Philip Davenport, she isn’t the only one to keep huge secrets - Gibbs can hardly afford to throw stones since he’s lived in a glass house for most of his time at NCIS. I sometimes wonder if Gibbs even lets himself know what he’s up to most of the time, he’s so fond of keeping us all in the dark. I swear, he thinks we’re mushrooms! 

So, as our personal relationship seemed to slowly deteriorate, I’d pretty much stopped going to his place. Then as Ziva spun further and further out of control after Eli’s death and I didn’t want to confront the situation at work, I’d sucked it up and manufactured an excuse to go over to his place. When he asked sardonically if I needed an excuse to drop in, I never answered him - not out loud, but mentally I responded. Hell, yes, Gibbs. Damned straight I need a goddamned excuse.

Of course, I might as well have saved my breath for all the good it did trying to talk about her. Everyone but me knew that she’d appropriated government resources (McGee) and agency equipment, that they set up a secret war room to track down her prey, and they all turned a blind eye as Ziva went on her merry way. Seems it was fine for her to hop on board the revenge train, inviting Director Leon Vance along too, and since Gibbs was a seasoned traveler on that particular track, he turned a blind eye to what was going on. 

So, then the whole Bodnar mess hit the fan, giving Richard Parsons the opening he’d been waiting for to enable him to go after Gibbs, ending up with McGee, Ziva, and I taking a dive to save Gibbs’ job. Okay, so I admit I wasn’t the one to come up with the idea of resigning, but I still had enough team spirit to go along with it, and what else but loyalty for Gibbs would possess me to make that sacrifice? 

I mean, if you look at it logically, it didn’t make any sense at all. Gibbs is close to retirement… who knows how close because he will never tell us how old he is, but he’s got to be damned close. I’d even go so far as to say he’s probably long over retirement age. And the three of us have years left to run on our careers, and yet we collectively threw away roughly forty years of our professional lives to protect Gibbs’ job. I’d invested a lot of years and sacrificed a lot for the team over the years, knocking back Rota, Spain, but for loyalty to him, I threw it all away. And sure, it all worked out and McGee and I got our badges back again, but we didn’t know that when we resigned to save Gibbs’ ass.

All that crap we went through just so Ziva could avenge her father, the paragon of virtue who sent her on a suicide mission and left her to rot in a terrorist camp. The paterfamilias who ordered her to kill her half-brother. The father who slunk into the US on a mission to promote peace and never blinked about killing an American citizen who was unfortunate enough to recognise him when Eli wanted to be here incognito. 

Oh, yeah, such a worthy recipient of loyalty and vengeance, if ever there was one. Seems to me that Ilan did the world a freakin’ huge favour if he was Eli’s killer, and since there was never a proper trial, who knows if he was actually guilty or not. You have to wonder, though, if Bodnar’s family – his brother, will decide to avenge his death and go after Ziva in retaliation. Makes one question where it will end.

So, I’ve stayed faithful to my boss for over a decade, despite the escalating tension and distance between us. I’m not even sure exactly when Gibbs last invited me over to his home, probably when he invited Senior, who was stone broke at that point, to stay for Thanksgiving. So, I think that I’m permitted to be thrown by an invitation to Gibbs’ home out of the blue, since I haven’t felt welcome there in a long time.

Of course, it goes without saying that it must be my fault... something I’ve done or said, or perhaps the gilt is just off the gingerbread. There are no outstanding issues at work that I know of – well, nothing that Gibbs would consider worth mentioning anyway. To the best of my knowledge, I haven’t screwed up anything lately, but with my track record, I concede that anything is possible. It’s probably a mistake to get too complacent.

Plus, Gibbs has been giving me weird looks for several weeks now. Well, to be honest, ever since I returned from Tel Aviv he’s been acting strange. I’m normally pretty good at decoding the Gibbs-speak, but the stuff he’s been broadcasting lately? Hell No! Every time I turn around he’s watching me, and why is it I keep humming The Police song, Every Breath You Take? Yeah, okay, it’s creepy, even for him but I’m trying to put it out of my head as I figure out the motivation behind the looks. 

It seems speculative to me, but really, I’m not up to anything that might explain it. No undercover ops, no job interviews, no plans to pull any pranks. Yet Gibbs and his staring have been making me antsy for weeks now. Is he going to kick me to the curb? If he is, I really wish he’d just get it over and done with. I can’t take the suspense, especially as his eyes seem to follow me wherever I go. Reminds me of those spooky portraits in the horror movies with the eyes cut out where some sicko can perv on people undetected, with eyes following you all around the room. Yep, definitely skin crawling creepy.

Then today after all the hinky Gibbs, out of the blue he invited me over to his place for dinner and to watch the game with him, and his cryptic invite has me pondering if someone is slipping something into his coffee. Replaying in my head the conversation that took place when I first arrived in the bullpen this morning as I now head out to his home in Alexandria, I try in vain to make sense of the nonsensical.

“DiNozzo.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“You’re late.”

Yeah two minutes. “Sorry, Boss.”

“Don’t apologise – it’s a sign of weakness. My place, tonight 2000. Bring beer.”

“Um… okay. What’s up?”

“Dinner, then watching football or we can do something else. Figure it’s time to stop beatin’ ‘round the bush. Lay our cards on the table.”

“Um… cryptic much, Gibbs? What have I told you about doing those crossword puzzles?” I joked feebly, trying to figure out what the hell he meant by laying our cards out on the table.

Scowling at me, he announced his intention to get fresh coffee. What a shock! 

Maybe Gibbs was going to explain why in the last few years he’d pushed me away, treating me as a stranger, one that he obviously didn’t like very much. Maybe he was going to give me my marching orders – I should probably consider myself lucky he wasn’t going to do it in the bullpen with everyone listening. I spent a few minutes after he left making sure my CV was up to date. Better to be prepared.

~o0o~

So, here I was outside Gibbs’ front door, feeling awkward. In years gone by, I’d have bounded up onto his porch and breezed through the unlocked front door, making myself at home as I put the beer in Gibbs’ relic of a fridge and descended down to his lair to hang out. After the last few years, where I stopped coming over since I felt as about as welcome as a pork chop at a Shabbat dinner and he stopped asking me over for the occasional cowboy steak, I froze on the front step, debating if I should knock. In the end, it felt wrong me just walking in and I ended up knocking. And didn’t that speak volumes about where our ‘working relationship’ had headed, and wasn’t it sad that even mentally, I didn’t even dare to label it as a friendship anymore?

Gibbs flung open the front door, obviously pissed that I’d forced him to answer the door. Hmm… not getting off to a great start here, but honestly, if I’d walked right on in, I’ll bet it would have been the wrong thing. These days it feels like I can’t seem to do the right thing no matter how hard I try. 

Sometimes, I wonder why he hasn’t taken advantage of circumstances at various times, like when I was assigned agent afloat or after I resigned, to get me transferred onto another team. He could have recommended me for a promotion, but then again, he would only do so if he thought I had what it takes to lead a team. While promoting a ‘problem’ off your team was an age old way to get rid of troublesome personnel, Gibbs is too honourable to go that track, and maybe he felt it was wrong to try and palm your rejects off onto other teams. If I was truly being honest with myself, something I usually avoid at all costs because it’s too painful to confront all my flaws, one of the reasons why I knocked back the Rota job when Shepard offered it to me is because of the niggling, okay, the huge doubts, about my ability to lead a team. Gibbs clearly agrees. 

Let’s face it, my colleagues were quick to let me know what a crap job of leading the team I’d done, but still I’d always hoped one day Gibbs would pull me aside and give me the nod – tell me that Rule 5 still applied. That I was wasted in the role of SFA, and through my loyalty, leadership, and investigative skills, I’d finally earned my own team. I guess I wanted his blessing, wanted his approval since the ‘you’ll do’ then his abrupt repossessing of my… no, his, team had left me as insecure as hell. Yeah, like I wasn’t self-doubting before that! 

The logical part of my brain recognises that Gibbs left the agency in a fit of pique because of the death of all those sailors on the Cape Fear thanks to a stupidly ambitious bureaucrat. That he got his shit together down in Baja and dealt with his memory and grief issues…not… was bored out of his gourd and came back because he decided he was too young to retire. The insecure part of me always felt he’d had to come back and reclaim the team because it was falling apart since I was doing such a crap job leading it.

Of course, since he never discussed my sojourn as team leader after he staged his coup and demoted me, it was hard not to feel like an abject failure. Especially when Ziva and McGee were deliriously happy to have him back and to have me ‘put in my place’ as they’d expressed it. They accused me of letting the promotion go to my head and strutting round like a peacock, but damn it, ‘Gibbs the team leader’ is the epitome of an arrogant bastard – his photo is in the dictionary beside arrogance, and they never once complained about him and he struts. And let’s face it, Mr. I Went to MIT and Johns Hopkins and am a Certified Computer Genius McGee and Little Ms. Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better Because I’m Mossad-Trained David, it isn’t like you who live in glass houses should have been throwing stones at me.

Realising that Gibbs had snatched the case of beer out of my arms and was barking at me to get my attention, I attempted to refocus myself on the present. Staring at his furious expression, I sighed mentally; obviously, I should have just walked in. Dumbass – I silently berated myself. Can’t you do anything right? 

“DiNozzo! Wanna get your head out of your ass? Since when did you start knocking on the door, anyway?”

I shrugged. Figured whatever I said it would just make Gibbs madder, so I decided to take a leaf out of his book and stay mute. It was safer that way, and one reason why I played the fool since everyone expected me to be dumb. And because they leave me alone – except after all these years it was getting pretty lonely, I’m often tempted to drop the act, except when I tried in the past, people (i.e. Team Gibbs) couldn’t deal with it.

So, I have to say that dinner was a somewhat surreal affair. Gibbs was in the weirdest mood, I have to say. He was trying to banter with me, but unsuccessfully because I was too freaked out by ‘Pod Gibbs’ to reciprocate. Plus, he kept shooting me looks that I couldn’t interpret… well, if it hadn’t been my bastard of a boss, I’d swear that he was… nope! There’s no way. 

I’m dreaming… yep, this is a dream. A really bizarre one, but a dream nevertheless. There was no way that Gibbs was coming on to me – for a whole raft of reasons. If it isn’t a dream, then I’m obviously feverish and hallucinating.

Deciding on the off chance that this is really happening and not a figment of my fevered imagination, I remained pretty poker-faced, sure I was reading the situation wrong. After dinner when we moved to the couch with a beer to watch the game, the ‘X Files weirdness’ escalated when Gibbs parked himself down beside me. He skipped right past the boss and subordinate personal distance zone, the two work buddies chillaxing together distance, ignoring completely the more intimate personal space relaxation of boundaries for really close friends and leapt into the I really like ya and want to get to know you better proximity. Okay, I admit I was shocked and I guess I stiffened up, and not in a that’s not a gun in my pocket, I’m just really happy to see you sort of good way, either. I must have sent out some pretty unequivocal nonverbal cues because Gibbs responded, frowning. 

“You really wanna play hard to get with me, DiNozzo? Don’t you think we’ve played enough games with each other over the years? Let’s just cut to the chase.”

OMG, did Gibbs just suggest we should hook-up? In a totally functional mute sort of way, or am I losing my mind? Admittedly, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed so I’m probably losing my marbles.


	2. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely, you must have realised after so long that everyone’s noticed you’re infatuation for me. Cate was only on the team for less than a year before she put two and two together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Arress for beta'ing this chapter.

Well, I’d envisioned a lot of scenarios when he invited me to come over to his place for dinner tonight, but I have to say, the idea that Gibbs might put the moves on me never entered into the equation. What the hell was going on? This had to be some huge prank. Right? 

This had to be Probie getting me back for some of the pranks I’d played on him over the last decade, although how he got Gibbs to go along with this Tibbs prank, I can’t imagine. Kudos, Elf Lord, you’ve surpassed yourself this time.

Relieved that I wasn’t losing my mind or hallucinating, I was ready to erupt into laughter when my bubble of relief got burst, quite violently, as Gibbs continued. 

“Think it’s time we were honest about our feelings for each other, which is why I invited ya over tonight. Twelve years of dancing round each other’s long enough. Heard of foreplay, but that’s taking it way too far, don’t’cha think?” he quizzed playfully and leaned into my very personal I’m about to suck your face space, freaking me out even more as I saw his pupils dilate with… oh good lord… arousal. 

Hang about, Jethro, I didn’t think you even liked me, much less *liked* me. 

I guess my eyes must have popped open in shock that my boss, my Marine hard ass, four times married, macho boss was apparently horny and coming on to me. No, Anthony, let’s avoid the C word in any sentence that includes ‘horny Gibbs’ and me in the same breath. 

Anyhoo, it seems Gibbs thought my reaction was something else entirely and leaned in as I opened my mouth to respond to his be still my beating heart, oh-so-romantic conversational gambit. And I found myself with Gibbs’ tongue expertly exploring a part of me that I’d always thought irritated the crap out of him, based on the amount of times he’d told me explicitly and implicitly to shut my trap over the years. Holy shit, he was a great kisser, but since I hadn’t issued an invitation and I was reeling from the totally unexpected turn that the night had taken, I finally got it together and fended him off since he was determined to perform a tonsillectomy, without the benefit of informed consent. 

“Ah, Gibbs, we need to talk,” I gasped, putting both my hands on his chest and pushing him back as I scooted into the corner of the couch in an effort to put some much needed distance between us. This couldn’t be happening!

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow – for him an expression of astonishment. “Hafta say, I didn’t envision you needing any encouragement to get hot and heavy with me,” he quipped.

Oh, great! So, what you mean is – I’m a slut with no self-control who at the first opportunity will leap into the sack with you. Good to know that’s how you see me, and I’ve got to say – it’s not the best basis for beginning a relationship. Why would you want to be with me?

“You know me, Gibbs, just a dumb jock. There was no way that I saw this coming when you invited me over to dinner tonight. You have to admit that over the last half a dozen years we haven’t exactly been close. Sometimes, I get the distinct impression that you don’t even like me, so what is this?” I asked feeling a rush of emotions. “Since when have you been into guys? Is it a mid-life identity crisis? You bi-curious all of a sudden? You decided that screwing a guy might work out better for you - simpler than another red-headed girlfriend who’d want you to actually have an emotional connection with her, expect you to talk?”

“Thought we’d gotten beyond talking, Tony. We’ve been dancing round each other for twelve years. That’s longer than my marriage to Shannon, and don’t play dumb – I’m not the only one who’s noticed your infatuation for me. What’s with the reluctance suddenly – you involved with someone else?” he demanded.

I must have looked at him oddly because he sighed, exasperatedly. 

“Ah, DiNozzo, you’ll be the death of me. You really want me to bare my soul? Okay, so I’ve been keeping my distance recently, pushing you away, hoping you’d take the hint and move on since I don’t date teammates, and watching you date other people was killing me. But while you were in Israel, I realised that if you left, it would destroy me. But ya didn’t. 

“You came back to me, not Ziva. So, since I haven’t got that many years left before they force me out anyway, I figured it was time we stopped pretending. If the worst happened and someone found out about us, I’d just have to retire. Reckon we’ve paid enough of a price for not acting on our feelings all this time.”

Oh my God. I don’t believe this!

“What makes you so sure I’m attracted to you, Gibbs?” I asked, curiously. Careful, Anthony, curiosity killed the cat!

“Why else would someone with your skills and qualifications be content to hang around as the 2IC on the team for twelve years? Trust me, Tony, ya couldn’t have made it any more obvious unless you screamed it out in the bullpen in front of everyone. Even Abby and Ducky have been nagging at me for years to stop messing you round, get it over and done with and take ya to bed because you’re smitten.

“Surely, you realised after so long everyone’s noticed you’re infatuation for me. Cate was only on the team for less than a year before she put two and two together – constantly nagging at me to acknowledge my feelings for you, especially after the Jeffrey White case.. And Ziva picked up on it pretty quickly when you kept on turning her down.”

“Hang on… you’re saying that I should have moved on years ago… that I should have been leading my own team all these years?” 

“Says the man that turned down Rota and a raft of offers from other alphabet agencies. Don’t play dumb. What else would be behind ya refusing to leave me for your own team?”

Gee, I don’t know… you fucking prick! It’s called loyalty… misguided as it turns out, and you can throw in misplaced faith in a mentor for good measure. I believed in you, even if you flouted most of your own precious rules, I believed you would have the integrity to still observe rules 1 and 5. 

All these years I’ve thought that I wasn’t good enough to lead a team and the legendary Leroy Jethro Gibb let me think it… he betrayed me.

C’mon, Anthony, get a grip. Don’t get mad, get even. You can do this.

Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. “So, I guess the question is, why didn’t you ever recommend me for promotion, taking into consideration your Rule 5?” I asked, keeping my mask firmly in place. 

“Yeah, so it was a tad hypocritical, but if I couldn’t have you in my bed, then I wanted you by my side while we worked. Like I told your father, you’re the best young agent I’ve ever worked with, so why would I shoot myself in the foot and deprive myself of your skills?” 

‘Well, that’s real kind of you to tell him that, Gibbs, after meeting him a couple of times, but don’t cha think it would have made a hell of a lot more difference…meant so much more to me if just once in the last twelve years, you actually told me?’

“C’mon, stop playing coy, Tony. You know how damned good you are. I wouldn’t have lured you away from Baltimore PD or kept you on the team otherwise.”

‘Yeah, I know I come across as brash and cocky, but I really thought you’d seen beyond the façade and understood it was all just a sham, Gibbs. Twelve years working together, and yet, obviously not. Boy, did I read the situation badly. Maybe I’m not as good as you think after all. It’s bad enough that the whole team sees me as some lovelorn, pathetic loser, hanging around hoping that the legendary macho Gibbs might finally deign to notice me and take me into his bed.’ 

I can’t believe that’s how they see me – the people I thought of as my friends, my family. How could I ever face any of them again, knowing how little they actually think of me? Maybe if they all have read me so wrong, it was time to get some new friends, look for new challenges even if I’d miss them. 

“So, all the girlfriends… the constant dates didn’t bother you?” I asked, thinking of Paula and E.J., and how Gibbs had resented them and tried his damnedest to break us up. Now I realised why - he’d been cock blocking. God, you’re such an idiot, DiNozzo!

Gibbs shrugged. “I figured most of them never existed. Just your BS, and the ones that did were a smoke screen to distract and deflect yourself and everyone else from your real desire.”

“Oh, yeah, what makes you think that?” I demanded, pissed off at his arrogant disregard of my feelings for Paula, Jeanne, and E.J. All three women had meant a lot to me. Jeanne was probably ‘the one’ if I hadn’t ruined it all by lying to her about everything and I hadn’t been undercover trying to bring down her arms dealer father. She certainly wasn’t a substitute for an unrequited love of my boss, for pity’s sake. 

Why was this sounding more and more like a really cheesy plot for one of Gemcity’s Deep Six novels by the minute? Totally unbelievable and more than just a little bit sad. 

“Set ya a test to see if Duck and Abs were right. So, I set you up with Wendy Miller because you were lonely and wanting to settle down and she was available. Actually, she was more than available, she was desperate to get back into your pants, and you barely looked at her twice. If anyone was gonna catch you, it was your ex-fiancée,” Gibbs stated smugly. “You passed the test with flying colours - ya couldn’t get rid of that two-faced bitch fast enough. Plus, you were real pissed when I hooked you up with her. That’s when I really knew for sure that you wanted me.”

Fuming at the absolute arrogance of the man, I tried to keep my temper. “And yet you didn’t act; in fact, you pushed me away. Hell, I found out a few months ago that you’ve had a cabin that you’ve never bothered to mention in all the years we’ve worked together.” Or the little fact that you’re apparently batting for both teams. 

Suddenly, I wanted to hurt Gibbs for the years of loyalty I’d given him and the abuse of that trust that had apparently made me a professional joke amongst my peers. As my team leader, Gibbs had a duty of care not to do me harm professionally, and yet because of his personal feelings for me and the assumption that I reciprocated them, it seemed he’d done exactly that. I had to get away from him. Leaping up from the couch to start pacing as my emotions threatened to overwhelm me, I was fearful that this would end up being a crime scene when I throttled him. 

‘Move, Anthony, breathe. Keep moving and breathing.’

“So, if we got together, Gibbs – how would that work?”

“Surely, I don’t have to explain how these things work, DiNozzo. You’re hardly an ingénue when it comes to sex,” Gibbs responded dryly.

Oh, yeah, obviously I’m a man whore, and yet you want to screw me silly? Ain’t that a great basis for a long and loving relationship?

“Actually, I was speaking professionally. Would I go to another team, would you recommend me for promotion, and how would that look to everyone if we’ve started a relationship?”

“Nothing would need to change because I have no intention of broadcasting my personal business at work. It’s no one else’s business but ours. And it wouldn’t be real professional to recommend you for promotion if we’re sleeping together. You know I’d never let our personal relationship affect how I treat you at work.”

‘No, you’d still treat me like a piece of dog crap. Probably be even more of a bastard to me so no one could accuse you of favouritism. What an incentive.’ 

“And what if I wanted to share the news about us with my friends or wanted to move to another team?”

Gibbs looked obdurate. “Then that’d be a problem. I’ve never been comfortable with other people I work with knowing my personal business – you know that. I’m due to retire in a few. Surely, you could manage to keep it to yourself til then.”

I shrugged since it was pretty much what I figured from Gibbs, having observed him carrying on a relationship with Colonel Hollis Mann, and she didn’t even work at NCIS, wasn’t his subordinate - hell, she wasn’t a man. Well, okay… I meant that biologically she wasn’t a man, even if she was technically a Mann. Hmm… okay, so I didn’t know categorically that Hollis wasn’t a guy! After Amanda Reed, I wasn’t about to make unequivocal statement of facts about people’s gender without concrete evidence.

“Well then, since you brought it up, Gibbs.” No way could I call him Boss anymore after losing all respect for him. “Since we’re both guys, how do you see us handling sex? Equal partners -turn and turn about?” I asked curiously, although after working for the guy for so many years, I had a pretty fair idea of how any relationship with him would work and not just the mechanics.

Snorting in amusement, he gave me that half smile of his, drilling me with those piercing blue eyes that had most of the females at work going weak at the knees, and he probably intended to be seductive. “That a joke, DiNozzo? I’d have thought you knew me better than that – I top. End of discussion. Judging by the way you follow me around, I didn’t figure you’d have a problem with it.”

I heard enough. If this was Gibbs’ idea of seduction and making his partner feel special, no wonder he had three ex-wives. Time to rock his view of the universe-according-to-Gibbs. He might be a great kisser, but I was better, and I intended on proving it. I strode over and straddled him on the couch, trying not to think about what I was going to do to my boss and mentor.   
Former boss and mentor, I reminded myself. C’mon, you can do this. Not the first time you’ve kissed a guy, DiNozzo.

Ignoring the fact that I didn’t actually know that it was a guy at the time or that he killed a good friend of mine, I focused on the end game – revenge. At first I could feel Gibbs’ extreme resistance to me taking charge of the encounter, but my raw power catching him off guard, coupled with a damned good technique, had him melting into the couch, just like most of my partners. I’ve never received any complaints from my lovers when it comes to my kissing technique; in fact, had a lot of compliments, and Gibbs also seemed to be in the fanboy category as he became increasing boneless. 

Well, apart from one particular appendage that instead of melting was expressing interest in an emphatic fashion as it tried to take over the situation. Stealing a glance at his pupils, which were dilated with desire, I figured that yes, it was petty and beneath me; it was also nowhere near enough to make up for years of him taking advantage of my loyalty and trust. BUT damn, it felt good! Something that I could take away with me; a little crumb of self-respect to take home from this FUBAR situation.

Pinning him to the couch so he couldn’t turn the tables and be the dominant one he’d obviously insist on being in any encounter with a guy, I played dirty. I rubbed up against him, making him moan with desire before I stood up abruptly, job done! I took my phone out of my pocket and I pulled up a photo that one of my frat brothers had sent me of his gorgeous new boyfriend, a selfie of a really ripped guy, a hot underwear model, and shoved it in Gibbs’ face.

“You asked me earlier if I was involved with anyone. This is Dante – he’s an up and coming underwear model. Pretty, isn’t he, and he’s nearly as good a kisser as me. We have a relationship based on sharing, mutual respect, and honesty. Oh, and you asked me why would I be prepared to hang around in your shadow for twelve years? Because I trusted you – you arrogant bastard! You told me when you hired me that you didn’t waste good. Since you never told me it was time to move on or I was good enough to lead my own team, I figured I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t up to being an SSA. Dumb ass that I am, I assumed that you’d tell me when I was. Let’s face it, I had no idea that you thought I was the best young agent you’ve ever worked with. You never told me, and I’m not fucking psychic.” 

I tried not to spit in his face, tried to keep it civilised. I also refused to feel guilty about lying to him about Dante - okay, so his name was really Kevin – but no matter what I said, he was never going to believe that I’m not gay or bi, since that would be the ONLY reason why I’d still be hanging around in his shadow in his ‘reality’. He’d just convince himself I was still in the closet or in denial about my feelings for him, because to do otherwise would mean he was wrong, and that was never going to happen. Did my lie about my ‘boyfriend’ make up for twelve years of him lying to me? Was it even right – hell, no! But it felt sooo good.

“Think you might be fooling yourself, Tony,” he snarked, supremely confident. “Why else would you kiss me like that?”

“Payback’s a bitch. Not my most shining hour, I’ll admit, Gibbs, but I wanted to hurt you for lying to me all these years. Plus, I wanted to prove a point. Professionally I might be insecure as hell, thanks in part to Senior, and also to you and your overwhelming support. Thanks so much for that, by the way.” I bowed ironically.

“But if you and everyone else think that I’d follow you round like a lovesick puppy for twelve damned years and not act on how I felt about you, you’re deluding yourselves quite majorly.” I sneered at him.

“I might be an idiot for believing in you professionally, but I have a modicum of self-respect when it comes to relationships. No matter how much I was in love with someone, I wouldn’t waste twelve years of my life waiting and hoping but not doing anything about it. I’m a realist not a romantic, a hedonist not a masochist. 

“My parents made damn sure I knew that my most important attribute was my looks. Then there was my high school piano teacher who was my first, and she spent a lot of time teaching me how to please my partner, so I’ve never been particularly shy about pursuing people I’m attracted to. If I’d really wanted to sleep with you, I’d have made a move on you a long time ago, as I just proved by kissing you senseless, even if it felt like I was kissing my father. And for the record that isn’t one of my kinks.” I informed him scornfully. 

“And just an FYI, Leroy Jethro Gibbs - if you think I’d ever be okay being in a relationship with someone who has no intention of ever letting me top, then you obviously don’t know me very well. As you pointed out, not exactly an inexperienced ingénue, and being together is about sharing and equality. But even more importantly, I won’t ever be in a relationship with someone who’s hit me on a regular basis for years (had enough of that as a kid, thank you very much) or insults me at every opportunity and who has no respect for me.

He looked like he was about to explode so it was time to wind things up and leave!

“Apart from which, after admitting to lusting after me for over a decade, I figured I’d leave you with something to remember me by, since it’s all you’re ever gonna get.” Okay, so that was vindictive, but I don’t care! Gibbs is the king of barbed comments – time he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end for once.

“Oh, and just so you know - I’ll be putting in for a couple of days’ leave while I figure out what to do about my career. One thing I do know is that you’ll need to find yourself another senior field agent and a bed partner. But for now, I’ll give you some privacy so you can take care of that problem upstairs,” I pointed snidely to where his normally loose jeans looked like they were now fitting him pretty snuggly, feeling not one wit sorry for being a cock tease. He so deserved it and more! 

“Thanks for dinner, Gibbs. I’ll be in touch when I figure out my plans!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony heads home to begin planning his next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I just have to say here that this story was written at least 2 months ago, long before season 13 kicked off and reoccurring cast members were announced. So if certain comments seem ironic it is totally a coincidence.
> 
> Thanks to Arress for the beta and Frakkin Toasters for feedback.

Driving home, I was replaying what had happened earlier that night in my head. I went over to Gibbs' place for dinner tonight, knowing that it wasn't just a meal between colleagues hanging out together. That there was an ulterior motive for Gibbs' invitation hadn't been that hard to figure out because the last time I'd turned up at Gibbs' was just before Ziva went native. And believe me, I took no comfort from being right about her going off the rails. Not that he listened to me, mind you.

I'd honestly thought he was going to tear me a new one tonight for something I'd done to piss him off. Let's face it, the last time he gave me anything approaching positive reinforcement was way back when I was running point on the Remy Grant case and he told me he was proud of me. In private.

Of course it was in private - heaven forbid that anyone should ever learn that he didn't think that I was anything other than a freakin screw-up. But since that overwhelming endorsement was because I was fixing up my massive screw-up sending an innocent man to prison, it hardly seemed like something to take a lot of comfort from. More like it was the absolute least I could do. So, with how he'd been so distant for a while now, it hadn't seemed such a leap to assume I'd finally worn out my welcome.

I never in a million years thought that the night would end up with me making the decision to leave Gibbs' team after all the time, blood, sweat, and tears I'd invested over the years. As it all started catching up with me, the bitter taste left from Gibbs' revelations after dinner had me pulling the car over to the side of the road. Exiting the car, I found myself crouched in the gutter making street pizza of the beer and cowboy steaks I'd eaten tonight, which was a real waste. Especially since I've no doubt consumed my last cowboy steak, and believe me, the irony about ending up in the gutter hasn't escaped my notice either.

So, what had me so upset that I lost a perfectly good dinner wasn't because I was upset that Gibbs wanted to hook-up? I'm not a homophobe, not by any means. I have some good friends who are gay and worked with plenty of cops and agents over the years who are gays or lesbians - it's a non-issue. Nor was it finding out that Gibbs is bisexual or gay, not sure which since he didn't exactly confide in me tonight. But as far as I'm concerned he can sleep with whoever he likes. Can't say I was thrilled with how he'd just expected I'd jump at the chance to enter into a relationship with him, although I'm not sure if he just wanted to screw me or if he was looking for something deep and meaningful. Mind his comments about my sexual behaviour hardly suggested he was looking for anything more than a physical liaison.

No, what had really upset me was that him having feelings for me that conflicted with his precious Rule 12, and that he's been denying those feelings and fucking me around all these years because of it. It probably explained why he was so much tougher on me than on anyone else on the team, trying so damned hard not to favour me, but that isn't fair to me. I'm also pissed that not only did he not confront me with how he felt about me, but he wasn't prepared to let me move on either. Gibbs has effectively left me in limbo, leaving me believing I wasn't good enough to step up and lead my own team. If he truly cared about me as he claims, then it isn't exactly the way to treat someone you have strong feelings for.

Even if I was gay and was secretly in love or even lusting over him, I'd be pretty pissed off to find out that for so many years he didn't think that I was worth sacrificing his job for, but suddenly with his career effectively reaching an end, he had decided he has nothing left to lose in hooking up with me. Talk about making your lover feel cherished and special. Hell, Ziva, McGee, and I gave up our careers to save his ass just because of our regard and respect for him. Makes me feel like a prize chump, I've gotta admit.

I guess what really burns me, though, is how dumb I was to expect Gibbs would follow through on his declaration that he didn't waste good. All these years I've wasted, believing I wasn't good enough, that I was nothing but a screw up that Gibbs barely tolerated, when that was far from the truth. Betrayal tasted damned bitter, and it wasn't due to losing my stomach contents, either.

Climbing back into my car and heading home, I thought about Gibbs' so-called litmus test with my ex-fiancée, Wendy Miller. Just goes to show that when it comes to understanding how I feel, Gibbs has sadly missed the plot. The truth is that while Wendy captured my heart, she also broke it badly, and I was never going to fall back into her arms like nothing had ever happened. Oh, sure, I'd ended up getting hot and heavy with her, might have even ended up having sex with her if her seven-year-old boy hadn't shocked me enough to think with my head and not my little Tony. Having seen my own father drag home a bunch of step-mothers and mistresses, I wasn't going down that road with Wendy's son, and I knew damned well that Wendy, no matter what she promised, would leave me sooner or later if we ever got back together.

I'd never made a secret of the fact that I dated my high school piano teacher, but no one ever made the connection that it was Wendy. She was not only my first – first love and my first lover, but she was obviously older than me and experienced – my Mrs. Robinson if you will. Add to it a lack of healthy female role models in my childhood, my father disowning me and his emotional abuse, I fell for her hard and fast. So, when she finally grew tired of having a teenager as a lover and ended our affair, I was, hardly surprisingly, utterly crushed. As my first love, she was my first breakup, although I guess when it came to rejection I was an old hand, but still her rejection devastated me, and I wasn't able to confide in anyone since the affair had been illicit.

Meanwhile, when our paths crossed once again in Baltimore, I'd grown up, not just in terms of age or experience when it came to women, but life and hard knocks too. I'd been a cop for more than five years, was a detective, and had seen a lot of life because of it. Granted, much of it was seamy and horrific, but it had also matured me pretty damn fast.

So, I guess I'd figured that the reason she dumped me in the first place wouldn't be an issue the second time around, and after all, there is something about your first love. Even if it is less than wonderful, we fantasize about it til it becomes larger than life, and nothing ever comes close to eclipsing it - at least in our memories. So, when I ran into her a decade later, I guess I thought it was a dream come true – that we were fated to be, or some equally dumb shit, that allowed me to dismiss the reality that what she'd done as my teacher was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Funny isn't it the double standards we have about sex when it comes to gender. Guys have a lot of partners and they are players. Women with the same number of partners are promiscuous sluts or easy. A male teacher seduces a female student, they're a pedophile, pervert, or at the very least a sick creep. If the girl's under sixteen, it's statutory rape and the girl's a victim. Yet when a female teacher seduces a teenage boy, most people don't view it with the same degree of seriousness since teenage boys are seen as horny and obsessed with sex anyway. Some people will go so far as to slap the victim on the back and call him a lucky bastard.

Even as a cop and Fed it took me a long time... a damn long time to recognise that what Wendy had done as my teacher was statutory rape. I guess that's why I always tried to make light or downplay my loss of virginity by telling people it had been a showgirl. Well, it had been one of her fantasies, and it stopped people probing for details.

God knows that I was confused enough as it was - confused about interpersonal relationships thanks to the dysfunctional ones I'd witness growing up in my fucked up family and confused about my own worth since my childhood was hardly a nurturing one. So, Wendy's attention, albeit inappropriate, was always going to be highly intoxicating and addictive given my need to feel good.

People always accuse me of being a hedonist like it's such a terrible or appallingly superficial thing, and I'll cheerfully cop to the charge, but what people never stop to think about is why I ended up that way. When I ask them, they respond that it is because I grew up in a rich family and was used to nothing but the best, and they'd be right, but not in the way everyone assumes. They have this stereotypical idea of me as growing up with a quintessential silver spoon in my mouth, although the reality was that the silver spoon was accompanied by parents who abused alcohol and/or prescription pills. The fact remained that I never received much in the way of emotional nurturing. Neither of my parents was exactly demonstrative to me – too busy making love to a bottle of booze, I suppose. As a result, I learnt very early on in the piece, the art of self-soothing.

When something was wrong, instead of snuggling into my mother or father's loving embrace and being told that everything would be all right, I'd wrap myself into a cashmere pashmina or silk wrap of my mother's, serendipitously steeped with her favourite scent. It made me feel safe and loved, or I'd filch her high-count cotton comforter off her bed, snuggle under it and tell myself that everything would be all right. The luxurious fabrics against my skin were like a hug that would cocoon me lovingly as I'd drift off to sleep, which was another self-soothing technique. I'd discovered that fantastically amorphous state between waking up and falling sleeping when I was a youngster was a safe and wondrous place to be – probably analogous to a loving hug from a parent I guess. A place where no matter how negative things became at home, all things seemed possible and nothing bad could affect me.

So, to me, hedonistic pleasures evoke feelings of safety, security, and love. I guess I've always felt a kinship with the Harry Harlow orphan monkeys from his experiments into nurturing who were reared with a fabric surrogate and turned out to be 'less' dysfunctional that the orphans who were raised in a barren wire cage. So, yes, I'm a hedonist, but before you judge me, walk a mile in my shoes as a kid and see how well you would have coped, before casting aspersions upon my character. Thanks to hedonism, I didn't end up becoming a drunk, a drug addict, or a serial killer.

Anyway, hedonism aside, the point is that my youthful affair with Wendy, with the benefit of hindsight, was wrong on so many levels since she was my teacher and I wasn't sixteen, so it was in reality statutory rape, yet at that time it felt so wonderful to a love-starved, emotionally confused teenager with raging hormones and rampant DiNozzo sex drive. Wendy taught me all about sex, and what teenage boy wasn't going to fall hopelessly in love with an 'older woman' who did that, and also made him feel special and ten feet tall? So, when she turned up in my life again, it was simply too easy to fall in love with her all over again. Easy to live in a fantasy world where we could settle down together and raise a family.

When she broke off our affair the first time, ostensibly because of my age, I was shattered, but distractions got me through it, difficult as it was. I headed off to college, made the varsity basketball and football teams, joined a fraternity, and then had the life-changing trauma with Jason and Amber King to deal with. It had all helped me deal with her rejection because those things diverted my attention, although I was still hurt, of course. The second time around, while I was a damned fool to start up a relationship with her again, I guess I rationalised that it hadn't worked out with us the first time because I was a boy, but this time around I was a man.

I convinced myself that we could have a future together – the whole home and family fantasy – everything I wanted as a kid, but didn't get. When she left me the night before the wedding with nary an explanation, I didn't have anything left to rationalise away as to why she dumped me a second time, since our age difference was no longer an issue. That's when I finally concluded that the truth was that I just wasn't good enough for her.

I thought it hurt when she broke up with me the first time, but right before the wedding when everything I yearned for – a home, a loving partner, and even a family were so frustratingly close? So close I could almost reach out and grab hold of it, and when it was snatched away from me, I was completely shattered. It was then I realised that I was never going to be good enough for anyone to want to settle down with me, and looking at my parents, it was hard to argue. So, I figured that if nothing else that while I'd never be good enough for long-term, I'd at least be great for a few fun dates.

After the epic failure of being with an older woman, who was clearly much more picky and discerning, I'd decided to stick to going out with younger women who were only looking for a good time right now, not anything more permanent. I figured that way they wouldn't be so fussy, and I'd make sure even if they started to get serious, that I'd be the one to dump them. No way was I going to let anyone take my heart and trample it again when they finally figured out that I might be easy on the eye, but not good enough to spend a lifetime with. Being what Cate called a skirt chasing, male chauvinist pig simplified things all round for everyone concerned and avoided people getting their emotions trampled on. And it worked out just fine for the most part... at least it did for more than half a dozen years.

The only hiccup in all that time had been Paula Cassidy, and ultimately, it didn't really stand a chance of working out between us even if I was crazy about her, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that she drove me crazy. Somehow, she managed to get past my defences and I ended up chasing her, when I'd promised myself I'd never do that again. I don't know if things might have worked out differently if she and Gibbs hadn't been like oil and water. Plus, he kept quoting Rule #12 at me. Of course, ultimately she went and got herself blown up by a terrorist bomb, she was a bona fide hero that made me feel guilty because she was quicker than me. Paula ended up sacrificing her life to save others, when it should have been me that died. Sometimes I hate her for dying and leaving me still alive.

No… if Gibbs really had been serious about testing me, a real litmus test would have been putting Jeanne Benoit in my path. Despite her being a mark, I'd fallen for her and fallen hard. Not being able to ditch her like I had with other women since my engagement to Wendy, things had a real chance to get serious. And with being undercover for a protracted period and having to do it as an adjunct to my normal duties first as lead agent and then as SFA, I found myself relaxing my masks for my role as opposed to coming up with a whole new persona. When I've done deep covers in the past, I usually lived my cover 24/7. That way you don't trip yourself up, you don't blow your cover and you don't end up beaten to a pulp, or worse. With the La Grenouille case, I was living a double life since I wasn't able to let my team know that I was under cover, so I was wasting a heap of energy on keeping them from catching on.

I was burning the candle at both ends badly, so I ended up using parts of my own identity for Tony DiNardo rather than creating a completely fake persona, which made me particularly vulnerable to getting too involved. And Jeanne really liked him… liked me, or to be accurate, she liked Tony DiNardo… who basically was me sans masks and hiding. When I was with her, I showed her all the parts of me that I usually kept under wraps – my intellectual, intelligent, sensitive, emotional side, and she fell in love with those qualities.

Did I only fall in love with her because she loved the bits of me that I usually kept hidden away? I'm not sure, but I do know that I was trying to grow into the role of team lead and had dropped some of my defences, and in return was getting nothing but contempt and distain from my teammates. Basically, they saw it as me trying, and failing abysmally, to step into Gibbs' shoes - I wasn't good enough!

Yet, Jeanne embraced me. Her acceptance of those parts of me that I'd always considered my Achilles' heel made me feel like I wasn't just a pale facsimile of Gibbs.

Just like Gibbs had won my fervent loyalty when he recruited me with Rule 5, the fact that Jeanne cared about me made me feel like I was so much more than I really was, someone better, someone important. Someone who WAS good enough! It was such a dramatic contrast to my colleagues' reaction, and what with me needing validation and approval like it was oxygen, I was always going to be disposed to falling in love with her. Apart from her being beautiful, smart, and caring.

So, as stupid as it was since she was mark and it was always going to end badly when she found out I was lying to her, I couldn't help falling in love with her. The truth was that she wasn't a monster – she was someone who had been born to an arms dealer and had no idea about what her old man did. She was a doctor, she cared about others, and reached out to people who were hurting, like that pathetic little junky in the morgue. Jeanne was an innocent pawn caught up in Jenny Shepard's obsessive need to avenge her father's suicide, and I still hate her for doing that to a blameless civilian.

Sure, she turned on me, accused me of killing her father, but in a real sense I did. Metaphorically anyway, since the attempt to kill us both when the CIA took out my Mustang had forced Rene to reveal his real identity to her and, of course, mine too. Both of us died for her in a sense that day.

If I hadn't managed to make her fall in love with me so that she dragged me off to meet her mother and then Rene, Jen would never have been able to get close enough to kill her father. I know that people have criticised Jeanne for falsely accusing me of murder, and I admit I was pretty pissed at the time, BUT then Shepard spent years getting into a position to be able to take revenge on the man she blamed for her father's death. She abused her power and misappropriated agency resources, and fucked up Jeanne and my lives for her personal vendetta. A false but direct accusation seems pretty measured in comparison to Jenny's machinations.

Then there was the criticism that Jeanne was manipulative – demanding that I tell her I loved her and the whole moving in together. Plus, the ultimatum when she found out about my real identity – well, it copped a lot of condemnation from the team, but I never really saw it as an ultimatum because I had no idea where she'd gone. I probably could have located her, but the fact that she didn't tell me how to find her indicated that she really didn't want us to be together, despite what she'd said. I think she was deeply conflicted, and perhaps on some level wanted to hurt me like I'd hurt her. I regret so much of what happened between us, but I really wish that the last thing that I told her hadn't been a lie. Yep, I was hurt about her accusing me of killing Rene, but I regret ever listening to Ziva and telling her that everything between us was fake so she could move on.

Seriously... what was I thinking? How was Jeanne being angry and hurt over thinking that I'd seduced her and everything between us had been fake a better scenario than thinking that I'd had feelings for her and lied to her to do my job? It wasn't. In fact, the self-loathing she felt was probably worse, at least knowing that my feelings for her had been genuine may have made her doubt herself much less. God, in hindsight, I couldn't have screwed up more if I'd been deliberately trying to.

All that aside, if I ran into Jeanne Benoit tomorrow and she wanted to give it another shot, I suspect that in spite of so many obstacles against us being able to make it together, I'd have leapt at the chance. Not that it was ever likely to happen, but my point is, Jeanne would be a litmus test – my former fiancée – NOT!

Arriving at my apartment, I was a little unsettled to find my mental ruminations had accompanied me all the way home. Guess I was lucky I didn't cause an accident, since I have no recollection of the drive. Idiot!

~o0o~

After a restless night, I woke up and went for a run to clear my head. On my return, I had my game plan fleshed out. Operation Abandon Ship was a go!

First a shower and some breakfast, then I was ready to starting putting it into motion now that I knew Gibbs had been holding me back all these years for his own selfish reasons. Sitting down on my sofa, I picked up my phone and dialed the number of an old frenemy, grinning when he answered.

"Hey, Fornell – it's Tony DiNozzo. Just thought I'd give you a heads up that I'm currently considering my future and am open to offers from other agencies." I grinned as Tobias almost swallowed his tongue in shock.

"What? Is this a joke? Where will you go, DiNotzo?"

"No, it isn't a joke at all and I haven't decided yet where I'll go. It depends on what offers I receive. I'm looking for a change and a fresh challenge..."

"Does Jethro know?"

Yes, he knows... Okay, thanks Tobias, just thought you'd want to know." Hanging up before he could make an offer, I figured that he'd be on the phone to Gibbs ASAP.

I dialed another number. "AD Morrow, please... Anthony DiNozzo." I waited until he picked up. "Hi, Sir..."

"Call me Tom, Tony. I've told you before."

"Okay, Tom. You said to let you know if I ever was serious about making a move..."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, definitely. I'm wanting a change and I'm checking out if there are any openings at the moment, so I'm putting out the word." I chuckled.

"Bet that set the cat amongst the pigeons, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, I reckon there's going to be a few shocked people..."

"Can you come by my office at lunch to have a chat? I'll send out for takeout."

"Sure, I can come by to talk. I took a couple of days off to consider my options... Lunch sounds good. I'll see you later then."

I hung up, feeling pleased with the response from Tom Morrow, who jumped at the chance to woo me. I made several more calls to contacts at the ATF and DEA, and by the time I was finished, the CIA, Metro PD, ICE, and NSA had heard the news via the grapevine and were keen to talk to me too. Fornell kept trying to catch me but I was having too much fun keeping him dangling – I'd talk to him later.

I had a busy day meeting with people who were basically courting me to come work for them, although it wasn't money that motivated me, but it was nice to feel wanted – to know that the offers I'd gotten over the years had been genuine ones. It went some way towards shoring up my self-respect that had been so severely shaken by the revelations that my colleagues looked at me as some pathetic lovesick loser pining away over Gibbs. It confirmed that I was GOOD ENOUGH!

And tomorrow I would go to see Director Vance and give him an opportunity to offer me something to keep me with NCIS, and I'd turn up the heat by informing him of the job offers I'd fielded today. Depending on what he had to say, it would determine whether I still had a future with the agency I'd spent nearly thirteen years of my professional life working for. One thing was for sure, I wasn't accepting an offer from him that didn't mean I had my own team, and if it involved an exotic location like Pearl Harbor or Napoli, I sure wasn't about to argue.

Even then, I'd have to seriously evaluate if I wanted to work for an agency whose director thought it was acceptable to avenge his wife's death, who put himself above his core stakeholders, and didn't see that as a conflict of interest. I'm also not all that thrilled about his tendency to show favoritism to certain kinds of agents at the expense of others, and his willingness to throw an agent under the bus for the sake of 'diplomacy'.

In terms of bosses, Tom Morrow was probably my preferred option for a boss, as he was a man of principle, but OHS' raison de entre was always going to be terrorism. I'm leaning more to solving crime than chasing fanatical terrorists after my time on the MCRT, and all the crap with Mossad over the years. That made the FBI, DEA, Metro PD, and AFT the best fit for my skills. The offer from the FBI was pretty damned tempting, and wasn't that an irony? Maybe they'd be less apt to accuse me of murder again if I work for them.

I had a lot thinking to do before deciding my future, but I was determined to move forward and not look back. I can't change my past but I can change my future.

The End

End Notes:

So that's the second story in this series complete. As I said in my last Abandon Ship story, I'm a rabid equal opportunity anti-shipper when it comes to shipping Tony with any of his team mates. The next piece as you have probably figured out by now is McNozzo or should that be anti McNozzo? See you for Abandon Ship: A Second Chance


End file.
